


the bullet and the gun

by alamorn



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Reference to Pedophilia, References to gun violence, a little bit of sex, mostly feelings, very brief and non explicit, where Karen tops the hell out of Frank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6338884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/pseuds/alamorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unexpected benefit of sleeping with the Punisher? Breakfast in bed. And acceptance. That too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the bullet and the gun

The funniest thing about fucking Frank Castle is that he makes her breakfast in the morning. It’s never fancy, but that reflects on her shopping habits as much as on his cooking. Anyway, he makes her eggs and they eat quietly. It’s less awkward than she would’ve expected. They don’t talk about his work, not over breakfast. They don’t talk about families, or crime. They talk about his dog or her work or they don’t talk at all. It’s nice.

The sex is also nice. With a name like the Punisher, she expected him to like it rough, expected bruises. And he can do rough, but only if she asks. Only if she begs. What he really likes is to get on his knees – sometimes he needs a pillow, since he’s not a young man anymore – and eat her out until she’s a panting, trembling wreck, until she’s screamed herself hoarse, chanting his name. After he’s done that, she’ll push him on his back and ride him.

She’s not Catholic. She doesn’t carry guilt like a weight around her neck, like Matt does. She doesn’t regret killing Wesley, doesn’t mourn him, doesn’t even think much on him, without the threat of Fisk hanging over her head. So when she tells Frank that she’s a murderer (twice over, though she hardly thinks of that anymore) she doesn’t do it because she wants him to punish her. She tells him because they are lying naked in her bed, and she’s listening to his heart and he doesn’t lie to her, and she would like to be able to say the same to him.

Admittedly, there was probably a better way to start the conversation than, “I didn’t pick out my gun. I took it from a man who threatened me and my family. I killed him with it.”

Frank’s hand stills on her back but he didn’t pull away. “This a confession?”

She shrugs and sits up, resting her chin on her knees. “If you want to call it that. I don’t want anything from you. I just… “ she shrugged again, helplessly. “You’re honest with me. “

He does a breathy half chuckle, mostly through the nose, and starts tracing the line of her spine with a blunt fingertip. “You know how to use a gun.” She fills in the gaps on her own. She knows how to use a gun better than she would if that were the first time she’d picked one up, better than if she were what they all think she is.

“I used to hunt,” she said. “In a town of 400 in the middle of nowhere, there’s not much else to do.” She’d liked tracking, liked waiting for prey, liked hitting things she aimed at, but she’d never liked the killing part. She’d switched to photography after a few trips out.

There was one hunt she’d enjoyed though. In a town of 400 there were no secrets, especially when the secret was a fondness for little kids. There hadn’t been much of an investigation.

He nods. She wonders for a second if he will ask her to hunt with him. She wonders what she will say. She doesn’t want that sort of power, but she doesn’t disagree with what he does, or much with his methods, understands how a person gets to a place where the paths ahead close one by one, understands the things you say to yourself to justify the unthinkable. But. She threw up everyday for a week after killing the pedophile in Vermont. She can’t do that on a bigger scale, especially because it just keeps the cycle going. But. But. She feels so ineffective.

He doesn’t ask. He places a kiss on the knob at the base of her neck and gets up and makes eggs. It’s not breakfast time, but it’s what’s in the apartment and they can’t exactly go out, so.

The next morning, there’s one more thing they don’t talk about over breakfast.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so gone for these murderous darlings. Come talk to me on tumblr! I'm alamorn there, too!


End file.
